


The Surrender

by Cybra



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Anger, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Depression, Despair, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-02-23 20:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18709723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cybra/pseuds/Cybra
Summary: Scrooge kept searching for Della, nearly driving himself and his company to bankruptcy, until his board of directors put an end to it.Unfortunately, the fallout of stopping the search was no easier than the original loss of his niece.





	1. Burning the Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a [post on tumblr](https://whiskybravo.tumblr.com/post/183593575381/i-knew-i-was-supposed-to-say-something-about-the) by [whiskybravo](https://whiskybravo.tumblr.com/) talking about how Scrooge likely used the gold from his own Bin to fuel the ships looking for Della which is why it’s taken so long to fill the Bin back up. Written for the “Memory Loss” prompt of my Bad Things Happen Bingo card.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** _Ducktales_ belongs to the Walt Disney Company.

Scrooge marched into the R&D lab, announcing his presence with a loud **_“Gyro!”_**

The scientist in question jumped before hurrying over to his boss.  “Yes, sir?”

“What’s this about a delay in building the rescue ships?” Scrooge demanded. “I thought the fleet was almost complete and could take off soon.”

“W-Well, the problem is the engines.  I’m needing to rework them for a different fuel source and—”

“Why?”

Gyro blinked, forced out of his explanation by the abrupt question.  “They run on Gold Tech right now.”

“Yes, and?” Scrooge pressed.

“It’d be cheaper to retrofit the engines for regular fuel given you own—”

“I don’t _care_ if it would be cheaper!” Scrooge cut in. “I want those rockets in the air  _immediately._   It’s already taken a year to get this far, and I’ll not wait a moment longer!”

Gyro swallowed as he took in his boss.  The old man had always looked so put-together even in a life-or-death situation.  Now, however, there were bags under his reddened eyes.  His clothing and feathers were disheveled though at least both were clean due to Beakley making regular visits to the Bin to exchange his clothing and his office had a full-sized bathroom for him to clean himself up in when he stayed overnight.  Scrooge hadn’t left the office since the _Spear of Selene_ Incident, him constantly calling and listening to the radio in hopes of hearing Della’s voice again along with overseeing the training of the pilots who would be searching for his lost niece.

“But, sir, the board has told me to—”

_“Hang the board!”_ Scrooge snarled. “Get those engines built and in those ships!”

“Even if I finish them tonight, they still couldn’t take off!” Gyro protested. “We need _gold_ to power the ships.  _Lots_ of it given how big the fleet is.  That’ll take time to put together!”

The old duck went quiet for a long moment, considering.

_‘Go home,’_ the inventor silently pleaded. _‘Go home and sleep in your own bed for once._ Please.’

However, he didn’t say the words aloud.  He wasn’t good at talking to people, so he was afraid he’d say the wrong thing and make the old man worse.  Scrooge didn’t blame him for the _Spear_ and refused to allow anyone else to do so, keeping his involvement in the ship’s creation silent.  Gyro didn’t want to repay that kindness by causing him to—

“How much do you need?” Scrooge asked at last.

“Literally tons,” Gyro answered, starting to relax a bit.  Not even Scrooge McDuck could snap his fingers and produce that amount of gold overnight.

“That’s not so bad,” the old duck mused. “We’ve got plenty on-hand already.”

The scientist narrowed his eyes in confusion.  Then they went wide with horror.  “Sir, you can’t be suggesting—!”

“Take what you need from the main vault and some extra just in case of multiple trips,” Scrooge ordered.

Gyro vehemently shook his head.  “No, sir.  I can’t do that.”

Everyone who worked in the Bin knew how important the treasures in the main vault were to Scrooge.  He’d personally witnessed the man’s ability to have a story for every coin you managed to dredge up from the depths, remembering how he’d gotten it the moment he touched it.  The vault wasn’t filled with money but precious memories for the old man.

The Gold Tech engines would burn those mementos into nothingness.  Those little pieces of Scrooge’s personal history, his scrapbook of metal, would be lost forever.

“Yes, you can and you will.”  Scrooge narrowed his eyes.  “This is a direct order, Gyro:  _Take what you need from the main vault and find my niece.”_

Gyro swallowed, eyes prickling as he took in the man’s desperation.  It was clear Scrooge knew exactly what he was sacrificing and didn’t care.  “I understand.”

Scrooge nodded and turned to limp back to the elevator leading topside.  (The limp had gotten so much worse over the past few months.)  It took a few minutes for the elevator to arrive, but soon enough he disappeared behind its metal doors.

Gyro removed his glasses to swipe at his eyes with the back of his hand before tossing the unfinished plans for the engine modifications in the trash.

* * *

 

It took more gold than even Gyro could’ve possibly imagined.

Not long ago, the Bin had been nearly full.  There’d been discussions on whether or not Scrooge would remodel or open a second Bin to make more room for his treasures.  Now the main vault was barely a quarter-full.

It made Gyro physically ill each time he went to the main vault to retrieve more for the ships.  He didn’t want to dredge up even one more coin; he didn’t want to watch more of those precious memories burn as his employer continued his mad search.

Then one day weeks after the constant flights started, Scrooge gathered his loyal Bin employees together, standing on a table in the lunchroom to be clearly seen by all.  Gyro swallowed at the sight of the old man who looked…empty…like a marionette whose puppeteer had suddenly gone on break in the middle of a performance.  Behind him stood the board, all three of the men watching Scrooge dispassionately.

Gyro caught a glimpse of Quackfaster trembling with rage at the sight of the vultures.  He didn’t know what was going on, but given the archivist had access to everything about Scrooge’s life, it was likely she knew exactly what was happening.

“I…”  Scrooge’s voice was raspy from calling into the void for days on end.

The entire cafeteria went silent as the Bin workers stopped any and all fidgeting to allow Scrooge to be heard without him having to raise his voice.  Everyone in the building knew that McDuck Enterprises was near-bankrupt yet none of the Bin workers had chosen to abandon the old man.  He’d hand-picked everyone here, fought the very buzzards standing behind him on a regular basis to keep the Bin open, and knew each of them by name.  To most of the workers on the outside, Scrooge McDuck was a name on a paycheck, a face seen on the news, but to the Bin workers, he was a man they would’ve happily marched into Hell for if he so much as hinted that he needed them to do so.

The old man swallowed and tried again.  “I wanted to thank you all for your hard work this past year and a half.  You all have blessed me with your support.  I know you all have done multiple shifts each since…since the incident.  It humbles me to know that you all clock out at normal business hours and…and keep working.  Without asking for overtime pay.  I know that must be hard on your families, and I’m sure you likely get an earful for it from them.  That’s something I can never fully repay.”

There was murmuring around Gyro, each offering quiet dismissal of the old man’s gratitude.  Scrooge was a miser with his money but generosity didn’t always require that.  Everyone in the Bin had a story about Scrooge either protecting them from the vultures’ constant attempts at cutting costs or even pulling them out of an economic hellhole by giving them the chance to earn a proper living through hard work.  Gyro himself had been convinced he’d die impoverished and in obscurity due to his often-dangerous inventions until he’d gotten a knock on his crappy old apartment’s front door and found Scrooge standing there with a massive grin on his face, the old man offering him a job due to being impressed with his latest work despite the disaster it had caused.

The overtime pay would’ve been nice to have—Gyro would freely admit that—but he knew that he and everyone else in the Bin had wanted to repay the old man by helping him get back Della.

“McDuck Enterprises will be remaining open.  I won’t lie:  We’re in pretty bad shape right now, but we can turn it around.  I have faith in you and all your coworkers outside the Bin.  And you all will be properly compensated for your work from here on out.”

As heartening as it was that he would still have a job, that startled Gyro along with the rest of the Bin workers.  They all remained tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Scrooge didn’t keep them waiting long.  “There will need to be cuts.  Big ones.  We’re hemorrhaging money, so I’ve decided…I’ve decided…”  The old man swallowed, leaning heavily on his cane and looking far frailer than anyone should ever look.  He sucked in a trembling breath, squeezing his eyes shut before re-opening them.  Even from so far away, Gyro could see the tears glittering in the fluorescent overhead lighting.  “I’ve decided that the space exploration branch of McDuck Enterprises will be completely shut down, effective immediately.”

The space exploration branch wasn’t housed in the Bin, but everyone knew what shutting it down meant.  The Bin workers erupted in a confused cacophony of protests.

“But what about—!”

“—still looking—!”

“—just a little longer!  We can find—!”

“Enough!” Scrooge barked, the room quieting down again though the Bin workers all shifted uneasily. “The space exploration branch of McDuck Enterprises will be completely shut down, meaning all missions—past, present, and future—are done.”  He swallowed again, looking as if he wanted to just curl up and die.  “This is necessary.  Sacrifices have to be made to keep the company afloat, and I’ll do what I must to make that happen.  This should stop the bleeding.”

“Sir,” someone near the front asked quietly, her voice echoing in the silence, “what about Della?”

Gyro saw several of his coworkers tense, ready to rush forward as Scrooge faltered, the old duck looking as if he would collapse on the spot at the mention of his niece’s name.

“Della…is…gone,” the old man forced out. “She’s gone.  And she’s not coming back.”  He gripped his cane tightly.  “And I don’t want anyone talking about her or the _Spear_ ever again.  Is that understood?”

There was an unhappy chorus of agreement.

Gyro felt bile rising in the back of his throat.  Just like burning the gold from the main vault, Scrooge was erasing an important part of his past.

“Thank you.”  Scrooge took another deep breath.  “And I want you all to be the first to hear that I’ll be taking a sabbatical for the next few months.  I need time to…to recover from this past year.  Know that I trust you all to keep things running as I like them.  I’m not stepping down; I just need to get away for a while.”

The last part sounded mechanical, rehearsed.  The slight curl on Bradford Buzzard’s beak hinted at just whose idea it had been.  Yet as much as Gyro wanted to lay out the vulture with one punch, he had to grudgingly admit that it was necessary:  Scrooge looked like he was about to drop dead at any moment.

“Thank you.  That’s…that’s all I have to say,” the old duck said as he started to shakily climb down from the table.

Two of the workers near the front had to assist him when the Scrooge they knew best could’ve easily jumped to the floor without issue.  Almost immediately, Bradford swept Scrooge away, the old duck looking even emptier than when the announcement had started.  The other two vultures flanked them, keeping the Bin workers away from their leader as the group of executives left the cafeteria.

* * *

 

Gyro went home that evening and sat down at his workbench, staring blankly forward.  Even hours later, he was still numb from the announcement.  He turned on the news but immediately switched it off when he saw the beginnings of footage from the press conference that had been made shortly after Scrooge had talked to the Bin workers.

He didn’t need to relive all the shock and shame a third time today.

Instead, he blindly reached out and began assembling the remaining pieces on his workbench.  Then he carried the device to his bed, sat down, and switched it on.  He picked up the handset and adjusted the dials to the frequency for the _Spear of Selene_ as emptiness was burned away by fresh rage.

“Della, if you can hear me, you’d better listen good,” he snarled, angry tears pouring down his face. “Bad enough you stole everyone’s hard work, but you’ve just about _killed_ your uncle!  Was your little joyride worth it?!”

No answer.  He hadn’t expected one.

He removed his glasses, harshly swiping at his eyes.  “You better get used to the sound of my voice because you’re gonna hear it every night until you’re so damn sick of it that you’ll send a message back just to shut me up!  And Mr. McDuck may have promised you over the last year that all will be forgiven if you answer him, but you’re not getting that from me!  You’re gonna hear _exactly_ what you’ve done starting from the second we lost connection with you to whenever you finally answer!  You’re gonna hate it but get used to it, you reckless, selfish moron!”

Scrooge might be trying to forget, but Gyro refused to.  And if there was even the slightest chance that Della was alive, he would make sure she didn’t either.

So he talked, going into excruciating detail, with only the silence as an answer until he finally passed out from exhaustion.


	2. The Impossible Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my Bad Things Happen Bingo space “Backhand Slap”. Given that we learned in “Nothing Can Stop Della Duck!” that Beakley became the housekeeper _after_ Della launched herself into space, I had to explain why Beakley is mentioned as coming to the Bin in Chapter 1, so the last chapter’s going through a massive overhaul to account for that. Such is life.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** _Ducktales_ belongs to the Walt Disney Company.

It wasn’t the first time someone had ever struck him, and Scrooge was almost certain it wouldn’t be the last.  However, he never would’ve expected _Bradford Buzzard_ of all people to do so.

His cohorts had helped him drag Scrooge away from the console even as the old duck had protested and struggled.  A year and a half ago, Scrooge could’ve easily thrown all three of them off of him, yet months of little sleep and food had taken their toll:  He was too weak to do more than make the job of hauling him away as difficult as possible.

Then Bradford had slapped him across the face with the back of his hand, stunning Scrooge into momentary silence.

The vulture then reached out and gripped his shoulders tightly, glaring right into his eyes.  “If you want to bankrupt yourself, go right ahead, but only if it’s _your_ money to waste!  Which it hasn’t!  We’ve been trying to get it through your head for months:  You’re draining the company coffers as well!”

Scrooge resumed struggling but Bradford’s grip was stronger than steel.  (Or perhaps Scrooge was even weaker than he’d previously realized.)  “I can’t!  Della’s still—”

“Your niece is dead.  Accept it and move on,” Bradford said coldly.

“She’s not dead!”

“It’s been a year and a half.  If she was still alive, she would’ve answered by now.  Or one of the rescue ships would’ve at least found some trace of her.”

Scrooge wanted to scream and curse, show the head of the board that he was no quitter, but he could only stand trembling in Bradford’s grip.  He couldn’t scrape up enough energy to throw the other man off of him.

Seeing that he wasn’t going to respond right away, Bradford continued without mercy, “You always claim you care about your employees.  Time to prove it.  If McDuck Enterprises goes under, you’re not just bankrupting yourself; you’ll be sending them plus the employees of every other company reliant on us into the street.”

The protest he’d been formulating died before he had the chance to speak it.

“You have a choice, Mr. McDuck:  You can keep going and ruin everyone or you can accept your loss and move on.  Which will it be?”

Scrooge felt his heart pounding in his ears.  He’d only recently figured out that his Bin workers had been working overtime without the extra pay.  Gods knew how the rest of his employees were dealing with this.  All that had mattered to him was finding Della.

 _‘She’s my niece and the mother of those eggs,’_ part of him justified. _‘I need to find her to fix things.  I can earn back the money; you can’t earn back family!’_

Yet was he willing to sacrifice _all_ of his workers for something that had the slimmest chance of succeeding?  Apparently, he had been up until Bradford had given him this harsh reminder.  Now that he was forced to acknowledge what he was doing, he found himself frozen between two choices that were unacceptable:

Keep searching but put everyone in the poor house and likely never find Della.

Save the company and his loyal employees but abandon her altogether.

He’d made hard decisions before.  Plenty of them.  Some nights he laid awake haunted by the “what ifs” and the roads not taken.  He mentally revisited the decisions when he’d made the best choice he could’ve made with the knowledge he’d had at the time, wondering if he’d overlooked some piece of information that he’d learned of later and how that information might’ve changed things.

However, this decision was impossible.  Loyalty pulled him in both directions.  Blood was thicker than water, but he couldn’t turn his back on the people who worked so hard for him.  They relied on him for their daily bread, yet this was _his niece…_

He couldn’t choose, but reality forced him to.

He opened his beak, ready to tell the board that he’d roll the dice and risk it all.  He was Scrooge McDuck.  He was no quitter, not even when he’d been homeless and starving on the frontier while trying to scrape together as much money as possible to keep his family afloat.

That brought those trials to mind, and he could remember the ache of an empty belly coupled with the harsh punishment of the elements as if it all took place just moments before this conversation.  His eyes burned and a wail of despair lodged itself in his throat because he knew which choice he _had_ to make.

Bradford continued glaring at him, still gripping his shoulders tightly.  The vulture had the futures of well over a million workers as his hostages, and they both knew it.

“…I’ll stop.”  The words were a hoarse whisper around the scream clawing desperately at his throat to escape.  He lowered his head as the tears finally started dripping free.

He felt physically ill.  Had he eaten anything recently, it would’ve come back up with interest.  His knees trembled, and he was forced to acknowledge all that was keeping him upright was Bradford’s grip on him.

Bradford lowered him down into a chair one of his cohorts retrieved from another room, Scrooge feeling cold and numb.  However, the vulture didn’t remove his hands from his shoulders.  “You’re making the right decision, sir.”

In his head he knew that.  He couldn’t punish so many people for his mistake.  Yet in his heart, he felt as if he was making a bigger mistake than the _Spear of Selene_ itself.

Scrooge McDuck didn’t give up, never surrendered…

…until now.

“I think it would be best for your health if you went on sabbatical for a few months,” Bradford told him.

Scrooge stared at him, hearing the words but not understanding their meaning.  Suddenly, English was as foreign to him as whatever they would’ve spoken on Mars.

“You’re in poor health and need time to recover,” Bradford continued. “The stress of running a multi-national corporation won’t do you any good in your current state.”  He motioned to his fellow board members.  “We can keep things running—”

“My Bin workers can do that,” the old man said listlessly, feeling so _tired_ that he wondered if he’d ever fully understood the word until that moment. “They know what they’re doing.”

Bradford’s face registered a brief scowl yet he nodded his head.  “If it will convince you to take a nice long rest, then we’ll hold off on any cuts outside of discontinuing the space program until you return.”

“How long?” Scrooge asked, feeling like a child asking for permission from his parents, not like the strong and proud man he’d grown up to be.

“A few months, I think.  You’re in very poor health, sir.”

He didn’t want to believe it, but his weakness and sour stomach agreed with the vulture’s assessment.  For the first time ever, he _felt_ well over a century old.

Besides, if agreeing meant his Bin workers would be spared from the cuts the board undoubtedly wanted to make, well, so be it.  He was too exhausted to even think about fighting them.  He bobbed his head up and down, the motion requiring a herculean amount of effort.

“We’ll have a press conference to announce it all.  That should help settle investors’—”

“I’ll agree to the press conference on one condition,” Scrooge interrupted softly. “You let me tell my workers first.  They don’t deserve to find out via the news.”

Bradford looked as if he would argue but the man nodded again.  “Very well.  That can be done.  We’ll send out a company-wide email before the press conference.”

“I want to _tell_ them,” Scrooge said harshly. “They deserve more than a sterile email.”

“The amount of time it would take to set up cameras and a link to all our facilities would take hours,” Bradford protested.

“Then let me tell the Bin workers in person.  They know me best,” the old man whispered. “They deserve as much for all their hard work.”

“…Fine.”

* * *

 

Scrooge sat alone in his office following the press conference.  He’d called for Duckworth to pick him up, but he would have to navigate through quite a crowd of reporters and paparazzi that were lingering outside the gate to the bridge.  It would take time.

Repeating his surrender twice over had not made the sickness in his stomach any better.  His body ached far worse than any amount of physical labor had ever made it do so before.

A dusty envelope on his desk caught his eye.  (How long had it been here?  Several months at least.)  He opened it, blindly tossing it in the garbage as he removed and stared at the black-and-white photo within.

He was in his space suit, posed with the _Spear of Selene_ in the background.  It was the commemorative photo taken before his planned test flight of the rocket.  (If she hadn’t taken the _Spear_ , would he have been the one caught by the cosmic storm?)  This was supposed to be a moment of triumph.

There was something strange in the background.

He squinted, trying to make it out.  Then after a few blinks, it came into focus:

A figure in a flight suit was climbing up the _Spear_ , looking back over her shoulder.  He forgot how to breathe as he realized he was looking at the very last picture to ever be taken of Della.  She’d been in the process of stealing the rocket when the shutter had been pressed.

If he’d just _turned around,_ he could’ve stopped her before the storm ever happened.

He choked, tears pouring freely down his face.  He squeezed his eyes shut as he began sobbing, allowing whatever control he’d had over his sorrow to shatter.  His hands clenched on the paper before he re-opened his eyes to glare hatefully at the image.

He shredded the photograph, his anguished screaming echoing in the near-empty Bin.


	3. Standing By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the "Forced to Watch" bingo square on my Bad Things Happen Bingo card.
> 
> Beakley wanted Scrooge to move on, to live again, but every day he died a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This final chapter is based on the “Forced to Watch” bingo square on my Bad Things Happen Bingo card. Sorry this took so long to come out. I’ve probably rewritten this thing five times because of how displeased I was by it. I also edited Chapter 2 a little because something I wrote here contradicts what I had there and it was too much of a hassle to go back and rework it.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** _Ducktales_ belongs to the Walt Disney Company.

Bentina Beakley waited by the front door to McDuck Manor.  Ever since Scrooge had sent for Duckworth to bring him home, she’d known that he wouldn’t be returning in triumph.  Thinking back to the phone call, she’d never heard his voice sound so… _defeated_ …before.

The live broadcast of the news conference announcing that all space exploration from McDuck Enterprises was being shut down confirmed her fears: Scrooge had finally given up the search for Della.  Yet that came with no sense of relief that Scrooge might finally be able to move on.

She’d been hired by Duckworth about three months into Scrooge’s mad search due to the butler realizing he couldn’t keep up his duties as well as he used to. Even though they didn’t particularly like one another, Duckworth did trust that she cared for Scrooge just as much as he did which was enough for him (even if he did find her cleanliness standards somehow lacking).  As Beakley had slowly taken on more and more of Duckworth’s duties, the more she’d learned about what her former partner had been up to over the past few decades along with what precisely had happened with the _Spear of Selene_. The trips she’d taken to the spaceport to bring Scrooge changes of clothing and food he mostly ignored had shown her more than mere words could’ve describe about his mental and emotional state.

Scrooge wasn’t likely to move on any time soon. If ever.

The sound of the limo pulling up to mansion prompted her to open the front door before the sole passenger even left the limousine. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest at the sight of her once-proud friend: his feathers matted, his head down, his clothing far too loose, and the old limp worse than she’d ever seen it before.

Scrooge leaned heavily on his cane as he climbed the front stoop. “I need a telephone.”

He had a cellphone, but it likely wasn’t charged. Given how little he’d taken care of himself, she didn’t doubt he’d paid even less attention to the little piece of technology.

“Of course,” she said.

“I’ll be in my study.”

She nodded her head again as Scrooge walked past her. While Duckworth went to park the limo, she shut the front door and went to retrieve not one but two handsets.

The first she turned on, muted, and placed in her apron where he couldn’t see it. The other she walked into the study to give him as he sat down in an overstuffed chair. She left as he gave a limp-wristed wave to dismiss her, turning a corner and bringing the handset she carried to her ear.

For several minutes, there was nothing but the dial tone. Then came the sound of his shuddering breathing. She held her breath.

 _Beep…beep…boop…bip…beep…boop…boop._ Ringing followed the seven slow button presses.

The recipient picked up on the third ring, an exhausted old woman answering with “If this is a request for an interview, you can shove it up your—”

“Elvira…” Scrooge’s voice quavered. “…it’s…it’s me.”

Elvira Duck, the twins’ paternal grandmother, went silent.

“I…I should’ve called you before the news conference,” Scrooge said. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

More silence accentuated by each agonizing beat of Beakley’s heart.

“I tried everything I could think of to find her. I didn’t…I didn’t want to give up. Honest.” He swallowed. “I know you’ll never forgive me but—”

 _“Just go away.”_ The voice was barely a whisper.

Beakley could hear the creak of plastic as Scrooge (or maybe it was Elvira) gripped the phone tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Please…I just want to make things right. However, I can. Just say the word.”

“Then go away and never set foot anywhere _near_ my family again, Scrooge McDuck!” Elvira screeched.

There was a loud _clack_ as if the phone had been thrown at its cradle. Then the dial tone again.

Beakley swallowed, her thumb hovering over the disconnect button.

 _“Okay.”_ The word was so soft that it might as well have been a breath. Then came the sobbing, Scrooge crying to what he believed to be an empty phone line until he somehow hit the disconnect button on his end, leaving her alone with the pitiless dial tone.

 

* * *

 

“Scrooge? I have a favor to ask.”

It had been almost four months since the last phone call with Elvira, fourth months into the start of a sabbatical with no determined length. Scrooge had retreated into himself, becoming a recluse. Beakley dearly missed her former partner’s energy as the mansion became more and more of a tomb.

“What is it?” he asked, not even looking up from his newspaper.

“I’d like to bring my granddaughter Webbigail here.”

She waited for him to demand an explanation, show some interest in the big change that was happening under his beak. To be honest, she didn’t want to bring little Webby into this house of despair, but she had little choice in the matter: She was all Webby had left for family.

Her heart sank as Scrooge said, “Fine. Just make sure she doesn’t bother me.”

“She’s very well-behaved for a toddler,” Beakley said.

“Then she’ll get on well here. Make sure to lock down anything she might touch on accident. We don’t need any curses running amok.”

“Would you like to meet her? I’ve told her all sorts of stories about you. I wager she’s already your biggest fan.”

“No.”

Beakley closed her eyes for a moment, taking a slow breath in through her nose and out through her mouth. Calm once more, she opened her eyes. “I think it would do you some good. She’s very energetic. Perhaps you two could—”

 _Smack!_ She jumped in surprise as Scrooge slammed the now rolled-up newspaper down onto the dining room table.

His eyes were bloodshot with dark circles beneath them. He hadn’t been sleeping again, and she made a mental note to force the sleeping pills he’d been prescribed down his throat if she had to tonight.

“I want _nothing_ to do with that little girl, do you understand me?” he snarled.

He didn’t have to explain why; their long association had taught her to read everything he didn’t say.

Beakley pulled up a chair to sit down beside his right hand, her hands close to his but not touching it. She didn’t want him to run away before she addressed his unspoken words directly: “It’s not going to happen again.”

“’Course it’s not.” He lurched to his feet, leaving the table. “She can stay but give her a new hero. She’ll find none here.”

Beakley closed her eyes again, listening to Scrooge’s angry, uneven steps as he stormed out of the dining room.

 

* * *

 

“Granny, why doesn’t Mr. McDuck ever want to talk to me?”

Beakley looked to her six-year-old granddaughter, the tray of Christmas cookies only half-decorated. (True, Scrooge didn’t celebrate the holiday anymore and could be heard cursing the season he used to love under his breath, but he didn’t stop her, Duckworth, and Webby from decorating the mansion and holding their own celebration. He typically didn’t even make an appearance on Christmas Day before noon when he looked haggard and a bit sick.)

She picked up Webby and hugged her close. “He just needs time. Wait for him to come to you. Don’t force the issue.”

“But I just want to ask him a few questions about his adventures.”

“I know.” She offered a weak smile. “But Mr. McDuck is very sad and—”

“Why?”

Beakley swallowed.

“Why is he always so sad?” Webby asked, eyes innocent and hurt. “And why does that mean he won’t talk to me?”

The housekeeper sighed and carried Webby to the breakfast nook, sitting down and placing her granddaughter on her lap. “There was another little girl in his life named ‘Della’ that he misses very much.”

“Where did she go?”

“I don’t know, but she’s not coming back. And Mr. McDuck is still trying to move on.”

That last part was a blatant lie. Beakley _wanted_ Scrooge to move on, to start living again, but every day he died a little more. Some days, she worried that she would wake up to find that his version of “moving on” was much more permanent than what she hoped for. (After the accident with his prescription four years ago, she didn’t trust him to manage the sleeping pills himself anymore.)

“So I just wait?”

Beakley nodded.

“How long?”

“I’m not sure, but we’ll be on standby when he’s ready.”

Webby leaned in to hug her as she rubbed the little girl’s back. “…okay.”


End file.
